


Twenty-First Summer

by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Arranged Marriage, Consensual Heat Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Full Shift Werewolves, Heat Sex, Heats, Implied Mpreg, King Peter Hale, Knotting, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omegaverse, Porn with Feelings, Sort of cross between medieval and regency, Steter Secret Santa 2019, Werewolf Peter, alive!Hales, alpha/omega sex, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresan/pseuds/HyperLittleNori
Summary: “Are you playing with me, Stiles?” Peter purred, his words a soft breath so close to Stiles’s face.Stiles smirked. “Well, it is heard throughout Beacon Valley, of the great Wolf King and the omega who has him wrapped around his little finger.”With a chuckle, Peter stroked the back of Stiles’s neck to show he didn’t mind any of that one bit.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 47
Kudos: 906
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	Twenty-First Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/gifts).



> Just a caution that this is an A/B/O fic where the Hales and Stilinskis arrange a marriage for Peter and Stiles when Stiles is born but the courtship doesn’t come until much later. Peter is older but there are no romantic/sexual feelings until Stiles is a consenting adult. Even so, if you think this may not be your cup of tea, please hit the back button. Stay safe.
> 
> To [theydraggedmein](https://theydraggedmein.tumblr.com/), I tried to go for soft but smutty here and include lots of the things you said you liked. I hope you enjoy it and have an amazing festive season :)

**21 st Summer…**

Pale streams of otherworldly light reached down through the canopy of leaves overhead, spilling across the grass and the first scattering of leaves that the approaching autumn’s first breath had chased to the ground. It was a warm night, but Stiles’s skin still prickled as he paused at the edge of the trees.

A great bridge reached across the valley toward the expansive city carved into the mountain side. Like something out of a dream, its rooftops sloped and arched with subtle yet artistic arrangement, connected by archways and bridges, at one with the water that ran down through the mountain and into the valley below. Vines carrying startlingly white flowers crept across the fine grey stone of its walls, walls that shone almost silver in the moonlight.

Stiles exhaled shakily in the quiet, not afraid but definitely nervous. His father was quiet at his side. The small group of friends and family at their back were equally silent, a ceremonial representation of their simple town and home rather a guard against anything sinister. Stiles thought with the arms of the forest around him and the moonlight on his face, he was probably the safest person in the valley. Even if so few of his people had ever laid eyes on the Wolf King’s house before.

It was a familiar sight to him, though, and his father too for that matter. It was hard to remember how nervous he’d been when he’d first seen it, on arriving to spend his sixteenth summer in Beacon Hills, the Wolf City, over five years ago now. He’d been eager and curious and perhaps a little bit scared of the unknown. Now he knew the layout of the mountain-side city and the people within as well as his own simple town and beholding it felt like something of a homecoming.

“See you on the other side,” Stiles said at last, his heart clenching a little at the sight of his father’s happy yet nostalgic expression, tinged with longing for the child he no longer was. “I think five years of courtship have proved him more than capable of keeping me out of trouble while you’re not there.”

“Son of mine, no test on earth could prepare a man for the trouble you get yourself into.”

With a small laugh, he squeezed his father’s hands between both of his before pulling his warm cloak of softest grey fur tighter around him. He relished in the safety of its warmth, the first courting gift the Wolf King had given him and his favourite still, as he stepped onto the stone bridge and approached the grand, gateless archway that was the entrance to the city.

It was a sign of strength, of safety, his father had once said in his first stories of the great city in the mountain. The wolves of the valley protected their town and all in it. They were an indomitable force that didn’t need gates for safety. Such was their strength, and yet for all the power they wielded, all the mystery that surrounded the protectors of the valley they called home, everyone only knew them for their kindness.

His skin prickled, the signal of pre-heat making his blood run hot and his skin feel the cold like piercing ice the way he might feel a fever. He felt a little giddy with it, but nothing else yet. Just a low burning desire and rush of anticipation.

The welcoming courtyard beyond the gateless archway was built in a curving crescent moon around the main spire that acted as a doorway into the city beyond. It was like a front hall with no ceiling to shut out the moon, whose likeness in all her stages of the cycle were carved into the architraves and decorative trims around the arches.

Usually the town square beyond the spire was busy with some sort of movement, even after sunset, being the hub of the city. Now Stiles could hear only the sound of the stream running through the fountains and bridges there. For once all was still.

The courtyard was more like a grove at the heart of the wilderness, with trees that grew up around the pale stone archways to shower the ground with blossoms that looked like snow in the moonlight. As per tradition, he must step into it alone, both of them must, as a display of both parties offering themselves without force from the world outside. The ceremony was simple but symbolic, it had to be pure, untainted by so much as a word from someone other than him or the Wolf King waiting for him in the moonlight.

He was frozen by the striking image the Wolf King made for a moment. For a moment forgetting all that the ceremony required. Because while he’d rebelled against tradition and expectations most of his life, this he wanted to do right.

Then the wolf wagged his tail in a slow, reassuring sweep from side to side and Stiles stepped forward, hand outstretched, fingers sifting into the surprisingly soft fur at Peter’s neck. He was large, easily as big as the bears or mountain lions on the outskirts of the mountains, so Stiles didn’t have to stoop to stroke him. A low sound like an inhuman hum vibrated under his hands and Stiles let a smile spread across his face, sinking in closer. He ruffled the impossibly soft fur, ruffling the soft hairs just because.

The wolf gave a little shudder and licked at his neck, nipping at the edge of his jaw in playful reprimand. Stiles let out a little laugh at the contact, reluctantly stepping back and reaching for the bag that hung over his shoulder.

With a moment of hesitation, he drew out the symbolic fabric within. He unfolded it, holding it out like one might a coat for someone to step into, its intricate embroidery and neat patchwork on display for the wolf’s piercing red eyes.

He felt a little self-conscious. It wasn’t as elegant as something Lydia or Liam could make but more of the style of the homely patchwork his mother had favoured when she’d been alive. It made him think of home and the quilting. If it wasn’t as warm as the fine fur Stiles wore about his shoulders, it would at least be a cosy shield against the elements. After the ceremony, it would cover the martial bed, just like the one his mother had made still lay over his father’s bed.

He held it up a little more than necessary, using it as a shield to hide his self-conscious eyes from the Peter’s as he looked on his gift. After a long moment, the subtle sound of bones and cartilage shifting, a sound he’d heard many times before, filled the air. Peter turned as he straightened onto two feet, letting Stiles drape the quilted blanket over his shoulders before he pulled it around himself and turned to face him.

His eyes, burning red in the evening light, were warm with affection and anticipation, just like Stiles felt. He gave Stiles his typical, devilish little smirk that made Stiles’s insides tighten.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Stiles didn’t need enhanced werewolf senses to know Peter meant every word.

“It’s like a map of the valley,” Peter noted.

Stiles nodded, watching Peter’s fingers trace the edge closest to where he held it around his shoulders. The bright silver thread carried the names of the landmarks and towns, in both human language and ancient lycanscript side by side.

“Derek had to help me with the exact lettering. But it felt...better than flowers like the tradition,” Stiles said self-deprecatingly.

Peter smirked. “It means more to me than tradition.” He stepped closer to Stiles, staring down into his eyes from a height that had significantly diminished since they’d last seen each other in the summer.

Slowly, Peter reached forward to smooth his hair with appreciation even for the wayward cowlick. “Aren’t you getting a little old for growth spurts? You’ve grown tall.” Standing this close, their mouths were only just out of alignment, with Peter’s just a couple of inches higher than Stiles’s.

The rush of alpha pheromones, enhanced by Stiles’s impending heat, filled even Stiles’s lesser human senses and made his breath catch and his throat tighten. His omega glands in his throat swelled up in an effort to lure his alpha closer, secure him in the most primal way.

It was a rush to know Peter felt it too, the dizzying effects of it. His heat had always come after his yearly visits here, right after the end of summer, spent huddled up in the blankets in his bed at home, surrounded by humans who couldn’t sense it.

There were no such thing as human alphas, all humans were either omega like himself, or beta with senses dulled compared to his own. He had grown up with a few human omegas, Liam and Lydia the closest to him. They’d had their secret illicit discussions about omega bodies and werewolf alphas, their heritage and the gifts that had been passed down from their werewolf ancestors more prevalently in them than those around them, but nothing could prepare him for how it felt to be so close to his heat and so close to an alpha. _His_ alpha, who’d courted him so perfectly for so long, who looked at him like he hung the moon in spite of his clumsiness and wandering thoughts. He felt almost drunk on him, on the unmistakable sweet musk of alpha filling his senses.

Stiles laughed huskily. “Deaton said I’d probably keep growing until I was twenty-five.” He grinned mischievously. “Or perhaps you’re shrinking?”

Peter’s eyes glowed an even fiercer red with playful hunger. A little growl rumbled in Peter’s throat and Stiles shuddered when Peter leaned in, rubbing the apple of his cheek against Stiles’s. He rubbed gently, his neatly trimmed beard scratching against Stiles’s smooth cheek and the fingers that had been in his unruly hair slid down to cradle the nape of his neck, holding him close, scenting him, inhaling him.

Stiles’s fingers trembled with spasms at his side, momentarily lost for what to do in the sudden rush of freedom to do only as he pleased with no concerns for courtship rules. In the end, he reached up, cupping the side of Peter’s throat closest to him, his other hand holding his face close, prolonging the contact of their cheeks and the way Peter dragged the corner of his mouth across Stiles’s cheekbone and the top of his jaw. He exhaled roughly, stomach tightening hot and fiery and his blood searing hotter than he’d ever felt in his life.

Then Stiles’s stomach cramped, deep down and uncomfortable and he winced into the embrace, fingers tightening at the pain that throbbed deep within. It was his body reacting to his alpha, to his approaching heat, his usually inactive womb swelling and descending. His face burned when Peter nuzzled a little more gently into the hollow just under his chin, the place where his omega glands swelled in his throat, scenting subtly.

Keen alpha senses knew what his body was doing right then, could detect even the subtle throb of his insides, already beginning to lubricate themselves, going supple and soft and pliant. Ready for him. It was the most arousing form of mortification and yet mortifying all the same, to have his soon-to-be lover, mate, husband know his body probably better than he did. He couldn’t wait to explore it.

Slowl,y giving him plenty of chance to draw back, Peter slid one hand inside the warm fur cloak, his fingers startlingly cool on Stiles’s fevered skin as they stole under his shirt to press at the small of his back where the ache of his season was almost as strong as his stomach. Stiles flinched, but then melted when the pain started to crawl out of him, sucked irrevocably into the thick black tendrils that wove up Peter’s arm, only to dissipate at the base of his neck, just where Stiles had his face pressed. He sighed, pressing his nose into Peter’s collarbone in relief, gratitude and a simple desire to be close.

He felt the usual neediness and clinginess surfacing, buzzing beneath his skin more intensely than the need for sex, which was the norm, contrary to the belief of beta humans that heat turned alphas and omegas sex crazed. It was about wanting, needing to be close to someone, to feel safe and protected until his body deemed him safe enough to be bred. He’d never once succumbed to a heat craze like the boorish betas at the tavern had teased him.

“That brilliant mind of yours is loud even when your lips are silent,” Peter teased, his voice soft and husky. Stiles chuckled, tilting his head to the side to let Peter mouth at his throat where his sensitive glands pulsed until he shivered and not from the cold. He was sweltering now, beneath his clothes and the warm fur around his shoulders.

“Just…wondering.” When he didn’t elaborate, Peter nipped at his chin and Stiles drew back just enough to look into his face. “If my heat might be different, with an alpha. If I’ll lose myself.”

Peter considered him for a beat. “There’s no such thing as heat haze, no pheromones so strong it could make you do something you don’t want to do.” His eyes glittered. “But if you accept me tonight, I do intend to make you so drunk on pleasure that your head spins.”

A soft groan-whine tugged at the back of Stiles’s throat. Those eyes searched Stiles’s as if to check if he had overstepped the boundaries, before leaning in to rest their foreheads together, noses just touching. Stiles could taste his breath and it made his mind foggy as if inhaling the headiest opiate. Stiles’s eyes, that he didn’t even recall allowing to fall closed, flew open and he stared hard into Peter’s eyes for a heartbeat, before pressing their mouths together. The almost hurt sound he made was muffled by the press of lips. Once, twice, then a sweeping caress of Peter’s lips across the corner of his mouth to scent it and his untouched cheek.

They slid apart without ever really separating, maintaining a gentle contact. Since he was sixteen he’d devoured werewolf tradition and culture with a ferocity that he did for all information, but he’d not always understood the reasons behind it all.

Even though humans were descended from wolves, even though their two cultures were similar, they did many things differently. Stiles hadn’t understood, for example, why their ceremony would be just the two of them to start and blessed only after they had formally accepted each other by the celebrations of their families. But he understood now. They were standing before each other with nothing but themselves to offer. For that moment, the world was for them alone.

Stiles let out a rough, strangled breath. “The way you talk, it sounds like you mean to debauch me here in the courtyard.”

With a laugh and a sharp grin, Peter lifted Stiles’s hand to his lips, so that his mouth grazed the back of it with a barely there kiss. “I should’ve known that rebellious streak would make an appearance at some point,” he said, sounding pleased. “As enticing as that idea is, you have yet to claim me.” He always did that spoke of things in terms of him belonging to Stiles, of Stiles’s power over him, the alpha. It made his blood sing.

“Do you come to me of your own will, of your own desires, pure as the moonlight?”

Stiles licked his dry lips absently at the fire in Peter’s eyes, at the rich tone of his voice. Somehow he managed to work his mouth into the correct answer. “Without coercion or any ulterior designs than to be yours and you mine.”

Peter inclined his head subtly, evidently listening to Stiles’s heart as he spoke as equally as his voice. He seemed pleased with the lack of nerves, the final assurance that he was doing this only for himself because he kissed Stiles’s hand again. He scented the back of his knuckles before pulling the cloak he’d offered as a gift tighter around Stiles, guarding against the chill his heat-flushed skin was becoming more and more sensitive to as his heat hormones rose.

“Let me take care of you?”

“Always.”

It was about emotions and connection, rather than words and no sooner had Stiles felt the acceptance and intimacy settle like a tangible bond between them, than wolves filtered in from the shadows of the archways. They came from the hub of the city beyond, ears pricked, eyes glowing gold, delight evident in the body language Stiles had come to learn like a second tongue over the years. They surrounded them in a wide, sweeping semi-circle that echoed the shape of the moon above.

The red of Peter’s eyes flared again and the moment that the black wolf that was Talia Hale locked gazes with him, hers did the same. She tipped her head back, her howl renting the night like the first strings of a violin. The sound followed through the gathering of wolves like a domino effect, until the air was filled with their song and their blessing. Stiles beamed, knowing his dad and the others had heard it, would be joining them soon, that there would be dancing and drinking and the kind of celebration that made the valley come alive, all the way down into their little town in the valley below.

*

**15 th Spring…**

It was said long ago that there were only wolves, that some started to gain the power to take human form, to switch back and forth, diluting through the years until eventually, humans lost all their connections to what they once were. All that remained of that heritage in the human species, were the human omegas.

While not ostracised, they were still treated by beta humans as valuable yet fragile creatures, air-headed and hormone driven.

Most knew werewolves were the same as them, albeit with superior senses and their ability to shift. In most cases, they were revered as the purest and most desirable of bloodlines, coveted with their close connection to the deities of their culture. To marry into or have a working connection to a werewolf, especially the Hales, who ruled over the valley, was to elevate yourself among even the richest of human lords.

Most considered them made in the wolf god’s image. People like Harris the schoolmaster though, they took the parts of religion, culture and propriety that made them superior to others and forgot the parts of the stories that mattered.

“Should you be out without a chaperone, Stilinski?” a voice sneered from behind him.

Stiles couldn’t bear it. _Purists_ , his father called them distastefully, although the word had such vulgar connotations that one would not utter it in polite society, not even to a drunken bigot.

“If I’d been aware that animals were welcome,” Harris crowed, looming over Stiles in the front doorway of the surgery where he’d been visiting Scott and his mother. “I would have brought my dogs with me.” His laugh was thick with wine and the people in their closest proximity stiffened. Stiles’s face heated, thankfully Harris was one of the few of his distaste for omegas, largely inspired when Lydia had refused his hand.

Knowing he wasn’t meant to rise to the bait, to make a scene, to lose his temper, Stiles couldn’t help it. It was totally improper for him to snap back, to show indignity even in the face of insult. He didn’t care. “It’s funny, I assume you mean me, but the only one that smells like a barn here is you.”

Harris’s face pinched with anger. “You think because you’re promised to a wolf you’re anything more than an upstart little milk wagon?” he sneered, the slur a crude insult to omegas, slang that insinuated an omega was no good even for breeding, only suitable as a wet nurse to those of better breeding than them. “Don’t think you’re above me because of who you’re fated to spread your legs for. Your father may be a decorated lawman but you are scrawny and ill-fed. Too masculine to be a wife and too feminine to make a husband. You have fanciful imaginings of grandeur with a mouth too sharp for your dull mind. You, _you_ …”

Whatever else Stiles was, he never divulged, because suddenly a presence appeared at Stiles’s elbow.

“You must be Stiles.” The smooth voice sliced through the tension in the air as effectively as water over a fire. Stiles twisted his head, staring up into the sharp jaw and artfully styled hair, a man of fine dress with a fur cloak about his shoulders of finest subtle brown. The distinctive fashion of a wolf. A wolf that spoke Stiles’s name like something familiar to him, in front of the dozens of people lingering nearby to witness the social insult to Stiles’s eligibility.

Stiles’s mouth went dry and he took an instinctive step back, even as he tilted his chin in defiance to his anxiety.

A polite, pleased smile twisted sculpted lips while those stunning blue eyes searched him. “We haven’t been introduced formally. I suppose it’s a social inappropriate to introduce myself to an omega of your standing personally, but I thought it more of an insult to pass you by once I recognised you.” He offered his hand in a display of deference, of the kind of respect one might show an omega of much higher standing than Stiles. Stiles took it and his heart jolted when the wolf king lowered himself to press his lips to his knuckles, holding onto his fingers a moment longer before releasing him.

“It is wonderful to meet you at last.”

Stiles hesitated. He _was_ in fact, out without a chaperone and he had no way of knowing what the man he had been promised in courtship to would think of that. Most people in the town thought his father needed to run a stricter rule over him, what if Peter Hale thought that too?

He watched as Peter looked between him and Harris, the small crowd of people nearby, evidently deducing what was going on. He straightened just fractionally, enough that Stiles thought only he noticed. “Is there a problem?”

Harris’ face flushed scarlet. “Omegas shouldn’t be out unattended,” he said, flustered and anxious.

Peter raised a brow. “Indeed. Some _unsavoury_ characters are about that they should be wary of.” He stared hard at Harris, leaving his meaning clear as day, before looking at Stiles. He must’ve seen the uncertainty there, the apprehension, because his expression softened, turning into something almost playful. “Why don’t we discuss those unsavoury characters with your father at the station?”

A further warning to Harris, a veiled threat but also, even at the age of fifteen, Stiles knew it was a clear way of associating them, and so elevating Stiles far and above the social damage the argument with Harris might’ve caused his character among the Beacon Hills town uppercrust. When Peter offered his arm, Stiles slid his hand inside, and they started toward the station just down the road.

“You were afraid of me back there,” Peter said quietly as they moved out of earshot of the nosy onlookers, who were now casting looks of disgust at Harris, as if the Wolf’s King vaguely accusing him of abusing young omegas were all the damning evidence they needed to avoid him.

Stiles bit his lip. He should remain silent. But _should-haves_ never dictated his actions, not even when they were advisable. “My lord, I didn’t know if you’d be annoyed that I was out by myself. I’m…” he shifted uncomfortably. “I’m yours and if I misbehave it reflects badly on you.” His father knew the Hales well, his mother had too, had known Peter, had always said they were good people. Stiles knew that, accepted that but it wasn’t the same as knowing someone for yourself.

Peter scoffed, the noise surprising Stiles into glancing up at him. “You’re not my omega yet, not until you accept my courtship and even then, I’m not looking for a trophy wife.”

Stiles blinked, surprised. “What are you looking for then, my lord?”

Peter looked uncomfortable for a moment, likely due to Stiles’s tender age of fifteen and Peter’s easy ten years on him. It must be hard for Peter to discuss a future marriage to someone who at that moment was still a child. He wouldn’t always be though and Stiles didn’t want to wait until he was old enough to know what his future may or may not hold. Perhaps Peter understood that because he smiled wistfully when he next spoke.

“Eventually, when you’re old enough, a partner.”

He may have been a child still, even if he was at the higher end toward adulthood, but Stiles was sharp enough, worldly enough to know what that meant. He meant equals, not a mild-mannered omega slave to kowtow to his superior alpha strength. It wasn’t what Stiles had expected from the mysterious Wolf King, even though his parents had always sung their praises of the Hales and their kindness.

“You look directly into my eyes,” Peter noted after a moment of reassured, more comfortable silence, just as they approached the station doors.

“Apologies, sire, I didn’t mean to insult you.” He didn’t offer _not_ to, though. Best begin as he meant to go on.

“Most people don’t, is all.” His soft expression turned amused once more. “I like it. You’re unsure of me, but not afraid.”

Stiles stopped and turned to fully face him, just a few feet from the front doors. While omega humans still had no superhuman strength, they did have heightened senses almost as sharp as those of an alpha wolf. He could smell the familiar scent of his dad inside somewhere, the reassuring nature of it boosting his often ill-advised confidence and bravery, his smart mouth.

“I’m not afraid of you, sire. My dad wouldn’t have promised a courtship between us if there was any doubt in his mind you were a good man.”

Peter tilted his head slightly, pleasantly surprised, Stiles thought, that he’d called him a man, not a wolf. Though wolves were revered as higher beings by beta humans, not many registered that they were people just like them. Stiles had met Talia once or twice, had often played with Cora and Derek when he was young, in the woods just outside their house, the perfect middle-mark between the town and the mountain-side city. Wolves were just people to him, with or without super-abilities. It hadn’t occurred to him that Peter would appreciate that.

“I was concerned when our match was made that a part of you would feel pressured, grow fearful, being promised to an older man. You seem…comfortable with the possibility.”

Stiles shrugged gracelessly. “My mother used to say I could decide when the time came, when I was ready, old enough. It’s something I’ve always known. I’m not scared to say no if I don’t want to.”

Peter grinned. “You’re definitely her son. She was a fierce but gentle woman, a good friend of my brother-in-law.” There was a respectful, soft silence then, in deference to Stiles’s mother and then Peter took a step back out of his personal space. Effectively alleviating himself as Stiles’s escort but also, Stiles thought, giving him space to answer clearly when he said, “It just occurred that the freedom I was trying to allow you has only created estrangement and uncertainty. I’d like to invite you to spend the summer in the city with my family. If you want to, that is.”

Stiles thought about it for a moment, about the curiosity burning in his chest at the thought of the mountainside city and all the things he’d dreamed about it. About the freedom of it and the way it wove itself into the wilderness around it like they were one.

“Does that mean the courtship gifts will start?” he asked, intrigued.

The laugh Peter gave was warm and guttural, almost startled out of him.

The next day, the courtship gifts started arriving here and there, sometimes every month, sometimes with a few months in between. Often they were material and small, but sometimes Stiles thought there was a secret, deeper meaning, a connection to something about Peter that he wanted Stiles to know.

Sometimes it was like one of the mystery novels his mother had owned, trying to decipher what mattered and what didn’t.

*

**15 th Summer…**

Exhilaration rushed through his veins as the muscles in his legs, his frantically heaving chest burned with the blissful pulse of exertion. The soft ground gave him bounce as he ran, the unseasonably cool summer air whipping against his face as he bolted through the increasingly sparse forest. He was near the edges of the trees, could feel more than hear Derek and Cora panting around him, their wolf feet carrying them at his pace.

He wasn't a long distance runner but he liked the initial sprint out of the city limits, down into the trees where he and Derek and Cora spent most of the summer. Back home, it was unfitting for an omega nearly of marrying age to run wild, to skid to his knees in the dirt and roll around with wolves wearing their furs.

In spite of his eagerness, his curiosity, his nosiness, he had been a little apprehensive about how he'd fit in with the Hales. But now he'd spent a few weeks with them he realised just how out of place he felt back in the town. Apart from his dad and his friends, he was largely wrong footed, out of place in a way the other omegas there weren’t.

Last night at dinner, when he'd come in with the others covered in the forest grit, the Wolf Queen, Peter’s sister Talia, had smiled fondly and said he was more wolf than human. He didn't disagree and if the way Peter smirked subtly was any indication, he agreed too. It felt far and distant, the adulthood where the friendly, familial-like courtship gifts and conversations might turn more intimate.

Peter was loose and funny and sarcastic just like Derek and Cora were, he didn't feel older or scary or even like an authority figure. Stiles mostly called him ‘sire’ or ‘lord’ out of the politeness that had been instilled in him since childhood, and even then it had an edge of teasing, like a secret between them. Stiles didn't see the side of him in politics, didn't really have any desire to, but he thought the face Peter showed him and his family was a private one he didn't show many others.

He was a friend, as surely as the others were. He thought even if he didn't decide to allow Peter to formally court him after he turned eighteen, marry Peter when he reached the full werewolf majority of twenty-one, he thought he might like to live here and he knew without a doubt the Hales would accept him. Peter included, spouse or not.

Suddenly, Cora bolted ahead and bounded into the stream running down from the mountainside city into the river far ahead, splashing and chuffing loudly. Derek snorted and darted on further, no doubt not wanting to get wet, but his sister pursued. They had more stamina, which was fine, Stiles was smiling even as he panted for breath, lowering himself down onto the warm dry grass and spreading himself out to stare up at the heavens.

The wind carried with it a familiar scent and he tilted his head back further to see a red wolf approach, all auburn/grey fur and bright blue eyes staring down at him. "Want to play fetch boy?” Stiles teased, rolling onto his stomach until he was on all fours and pushing himself into a crouch.

The wolf huffed on annoyance, ears flicking but his body was relaxed and tail swaying gently to show his playful amusement.

“Are you out here playing truant on your…kingly duties, my lord?” He swore he saw the mischief in those eyes and he grinned. “I am having such a bad influence on you.”

Stiles knew Peter wouldn't shift back without cover; he was weird about exposing himself to Stiles, even if werewolves generally didn't care about nudity. "Do you want to walk back with me?" He asked, stretching his burning legs. He'd had his morning run but he enjoyed the leisurely walk back. Peter cocked his head, happy it seemed to be asked and nodded.

Half way back up the trail, Peter vanished into the bushes then reappeared wearing a loose shirt and trousers so that he could escort Stiles as a human the rest of the way back. “Did you ever learn to ride?” Peter asked after a moment.

Stiles blinked. “No I…well, I always meant to but there’s a stigma against letting omegas ride until they’ve had their first heat.” He scowled. “Some nonsense about it affecting our _‘underdeveloped childbearing organs.’_ ”

Peter’s lips twisted. “Well, I think we might be able to sneak in and out of the stables without being noticed. If you’re up for a challenge?”

*

**18 th Summer…**

Wolves ruled as family units, not as mates. Peter and Talia ruled side-by-side as siblings, leaving Talia’s mate to take up his passion of raising herbs and crafting them into medicines, mostly for the human occupants of _Beacon Valley_. On his first few summers with them, Stiles often found himself poking his nose into the gardens there or the clinic where he and Deaton worked miracles. In between causing mischief with Cora and Derek, running wild with the wolves through the halls, courtyards and through the river than wove through the city.

But he spent time with Peter too. Their courtship had not been romantic in nature. Not until the last few years, when the warm, friendly, familial looks and words Peter had exchanged with his courting gifts had started to hold a little more heat and appreciation. Peter had taught him to ride a horse, and to his surprise, how to defend himself against assailants larger than him after he’d heard about a scrimmage he’d gotten into with one of the teenaged beta wolves.

Stiles’s father had fought alongside Talia in the great war and his mother had worked closely with Talia’s mate under Deaton’s tutelage when she’d been younger. When Stiles had been born an omega, he’d been promised to Peter and that promise had only built on the trust and security of the bond already shared between their families, even if the Hale line was that of noble, wolf’s blood.

The promise wasn’t binding, not even when the Wolf King was the intended, but the arranged marriage was a typical tradition to secure the future of the omega. For all that Stiles had grown up surrounded by this, had spent his summers there, he never felt pressured or afraid, not even when Peter had greeted him at the gates that first time, standing so formally alongside his sister, a crown of intricately woven silver on his head.

He’d seemed so powerful then, tall and mysterious and Stiles had been in awe of him until he got to know him well enough to cause just as much mischief for him as everyone else. He liked his dry humour and the way he would still flip Stiles flat on his back as if he were just another wolf, not a fragile human omega, teaching him how to land and use his attacker’s body weight to roll out of their grasp.

It hadn’t been the sight of Peter’s sweat-slicked pectorals, or the feel of his breath on his neck when Stiles tried to flip him that had first made him realise he wanted him though, or even the glimpses he got of him washing in the lake one midsummer’s day when the family had gathered there. It didn’t really have anything to do with the courting gifts he received throughout the year, although as a child of a lawman in a simple town, they were a welcome extravagance and display of attention he embarrassingly hungered for.

It was on a day during his eighteenth summer, where he’d sat in one of the Hales’ private courtyard gardens, studying the lycanscript carved into the stone around the rippling fountain. Peter had found him there and Stiles had found that he’d missed him more than usual in the last year since they’d last seen each other. He’d missed the mountainside city and the freeing atmosphere, the feeling of connection to the wilderness that felt like home. But he’d missed Peter in particular.

“Do you know why this valley is called _Beacon Hills_?” Peter asked when he found a seat beside Stiles on the edge of the fountain, Stiles’s fingertips absently tracing what he thought were all the names of the past kings and queens engraved into the stone. He’d found Peter’s name, at least, and Talia, as well as the grandfather Derek was named after.

“Because they say centuries ago, as humans grew more and more separated from the werewolves they were descended from, they grew to fear them. They marched out to challenge them, destroy them, but they got lost in the snowstorms that frequent the area in the winter. Instead of letting them die, the Wolf King of old lit beacons all along the city walls to show them where to go. When they followed the lights blindly, he welcomed them like brothers and thus the truce was struck between them.”

He had a warm lilt to his voice, and it was then that Stiles realised he had the same respect for history and different cultures, the same hunger for knowledge that Stiles felt in his gut. Stiles’s eyes glistened and his stomach swooped as the story unfolded in Peter’s enrapturing voice. He felt shaky and in awe and hungry all at once, his feelings solidifying clearly in his mind, the fog of confusion clearing the more Peter spoke.

Then Peter covered his hand with his own. “If you accept me one day, I hope the future we build, the family we create is one that takes the best parts of both our cultures to make something better and stronger than before.”

Stiles felt almost shy under the avidness of his attention. “Is that why you agreed to the arranged marriage even after we’d met? A marriage to unite two peoples?” he mused, because sometimes, beside the gifts of varying extravagance, it was easy to forget that they were in fact engaged. He had expected courtship to feel more awkward, pressuring, formal. But he and Peter jibed each other like best friends rather than potential suitors, it was as easy to talk to him as it was to Scott, Lydia, Derek or Cora.

It was as if the first few years, Peter had been courting his friendship rather than his heart. Now though, Stiles felt something infinitely more personal tightening in his chest, in his stomach when their eyes met and he wondered at what point it had all changed. And it hadn’t been something either of them had expected. It’d happened entirely by accident.

Peter’s eyes glittered in a way he’d never seen before. “It was my initial reason for accepting the idea. We were intended before I even saw you with my own eyes, and when I met you, a creature whose hunger for everything could match my own, I had hoped we could make an amicable match.” He hesitated, searching Stiles’s face, eyes drifting to his throat in a lingering sort of way, before their eyes locked again. “I saw a spark of defiance and strength in you, a rebelliousness and wit that matched my own. It was a logical union in every way, but it wasn’t until recently that logic became…inconsequential to me.”

He reached out a hand then, holding it up for Stiles to take. Stiles took it, exhaling shakily at the rush Peter’s fingers curling around his sent through his skin. “When I look at you now, a fire kindles inside me of the kind I’ve never felt before. I’ve never met anyone like you before. Stiles.”

Stiles’s stomach swooped at the soft huskiness of his name and he held Peter’s gaze for a moment, before casting his gaze down to the water flowing softly through the base pool of the fountain. He dragged one of the fingers of his free hand across the water for one of the stripy fish to nip at inquisitively.

“You don’t need to respond,” Peter assured him with a reflective little smile. “That’s what courtship means. It means you don’t have to give me an answer. But I wanted you to know, if you accept a formal courtship with me, it isn’t just about what you are or who your father is to my family. It’s about you.”

“My lord, if you really want _me_ as your husband, your omega then I don’t think you know me well at all,” Stiles mused with a self-deprecating smile.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Peter said almost chidingly.

Stiles couldn’t help it. He grinned, flushing a little at the unspoken praise, before lightening the tension of the moment by swatting water into Peter’s face. Laughter ricocheted around them in the afternoon sun and the sound of it, rich and deep made Stiles feel like he was flying.

*

**19 th Spring…**

On his nineteenth birthday, which fell in the spring, Peter actually sent a messenger for him with a case of his favourite pastries and cakes from the kitchens as well as small note.

It started by wishing him well on his birthday, letting him know a close friend of the family, Satomi Ito, would be bringing fireworks that summer so that they could celebrate his birthday with him too. Then Stiles’s mouth went dry as he read, _when an omega in the wolf city welcomes the idea of formal courtship but doesn’t yet have an official answer, they would ask for a gift of their own imagining of the suitor, to allow them the chance to prove themselves worthy of interest. I would hope to receive such a request from you._

Both because he couldn’t make up his mind and because he wanted Peter to get the measure of him, his recklessness, his disregard for decorum, his difference from meek ‘traditional views’ of omegas, his appetite for knowledge and for intimacy and the sheer cheek of his forwardness, he asked for two things.

He asked for books denoting werewolf culture and traditions.

He asked to call the Wolf King by his first name.

The package, when it came a week later contained a dozen books with soft, time and use-worn leather covers. The letter that accompanied it was signed _‘Peter’._

*****

**In the 19 th Summer…**

Stiles had never been particularly shy or cowed, even when perhaps it would’ve been easier. Omegas weren’t meant to be outspoken and strident, especially if they wanted a good match. Standing there now though, with Peter’s eyes on him, with his senses reaching out and likely sensing Stiles’s attraction, he felt oddly bashful.

“I want to accept the official courtship, but before I do, you need to know that my… _feelings_ have changed.”

Peter’s face was unreadable. “What made them change?”

Stiles licked his dry lips. “I just realised that I want more, I want more with _you_. Not for all the reasons everyone else suggested this for us, but for the reasons I want to choose you for myself.” He shifted on his feet awkwardly. “If you feel the same way, that is.”

What Peter had said last summer still rang clear as day in his head, but he had to be sure, he had to know for certain.

He thought for one moment that the light banter and back-and-forth between them that was their norm, would cloud Peter’s response. But he looked soft and serious all at once as he stepped between them, so close Stiles’s senses were swimming with him. He stared down into Stiles’s eyes, seeming to reach down deep into the places even Stiles couldn’t delve. Then he leaned in and brushed their lips together for the first time.

*

**21 st Summer…**

The sounds of music and the celebrations seemed to make the city come alive, still vibrating through Stiles’s skin even as his new mate bore him to the marital bed. Joining during an omega’s heat sealed the union, which was why the ceremony was always held at the onset of it. It was swelling higher now, accelerated by Peter’s proximity and unlike the heats he’d spent aroused, needy and alone, every touch made his body sing.

Contrary to the ignorant assumptions of some humans, it didn’t sweep over him like an all-consuming fog. His mind was driven hard and fast with each throbbing pulse beneath his skin, his skin that burned up at every painfully soft sweeping touch. And Peter was burning up right along with him.

Stiles’s long fingers splayed across Peter’s collarbones, revelling in the freedom to touch however and wherever he pleased. It was a heady power rush and a frisson of hunger surged up alongside it, urging him up and over until he was straddling Peter’s hips. He curled over him as Peter nuzzled insistently at his jaw, sucking at the glands in his throat. Stiles panted, hands ghosting over the toned biceps and forearms, scratching his nails through the hairs there. His breath hitched when Peter’s teeth grazed his adam’s apple and he squirmed, hips rolling of their own volition.

“Knew you’d be like this,” Peter growled huskily into his ear, alternately nipping, kissing, scenting every bit of him he could reach, hands smoothing down Stiles’s back to urge the fur cloak away, then start working at the dark blue/grey tunic shirt he wore beneath. “The moment I started to see you…”

“See me?” Stiles asked teasingly, twisting his head to kiss at the corner of Peter’s mouth at the same time as he pressed all his weight onto Peter’s forearms to pin him in place. Just to feel the power tense beneath him, just to see. Peter could throw him off, of course, but he wouldn’t. This was about boundaries and surrendering and partnership and the give and take between them.

Peter’s eyes flared red, the sight gripping Stiles low in his belly and tugging until his lips parted around a guttural little gasp.

“See you as a man, as a mate.”

Stiles’s stomach gave a spasm and he panted again, his hips rolling in a slow, subtle but continuous pulsing rhythm. That day, in the courtyard garden, in Stiles’s eighteenth summer, by the fountain, he’d felt something change.

His face burned with his swelling heat, his cock hard in his half-open tunic and trapped between their bellies. He felt wetness seeping down his thighs, his body ready and drawn tight like a bowstring. The smell of alpha was thick and mouth-watering on his tongue, filling his senses. Arousal sweetened it and made him clench down around nothing. “I’m not your mate yet,” he challenged.

Blood-red alpha eyes darkened with lust. “There’s that mischievous spark that bewitched me,” he grinned.

Stiles saw the flash of fang and everything went tight and hot and fast. Before he could even process his own movement, he dove in, crushing their mouths together, hungry and messy. Wild like something from the now deep, frantic, writhing crescendo of the drums from the festivities outside far below.

Peter growled hungrily, gathering him up in his arms as if Stiles were everything that mattered in the world, everything that kept him anchored to it in the midst of a raging tempest. Stiles just sank into him and let him be whisked away on the whirlwind of his passion, his safety.

Peter urged his head sideways, nudged chin back with his thumb, fingers curving into the shape of Stiles’s jaw. Stiles panted and Peter hummed, mouth melding to his and massaging Stiles’s kiss-wet lips open just enough for him to touch his tongue inside.

Stiles jerked as if his skin had been set ablaze, the sensation too much yet not enough and he did not let go. He dug his fingers hard into Peter’s neck, holding him close and chasing his tongue back without hesitation.

At some point Stiles squirmed out of his clothes with Peter’s assistance, slowly, lazily, without their mouths ever really parting. They lay plastered together, wrapped around each other and rutting lazily, stoking the embers of heat between them into fiercer flames until Stiles was shuddering with need.

“Sorry,” he panted into Peter’s mouth, feeling shaky now, grinding his cock against Peter’s hip. “I get a bit needy during my heat. I just want…I want contact, want intimacy I want…” He licked his lips, tasting Peter on them as he met his gaze. “I want you.”

Peter did that low, husky hum in his throat and held his gaze, drawing his hand up to brush Stiles’s knuckles across his lips. “And I you.” He nipped at Stiles’s thumb and Stiles groaned, fucking his cock into Peter’s hip, the pressure of his tongue hot and wet swiping against the pad only driving him over the edge. He grasped Peter’s jaw with both hands and kissed him again, clumsy but desperate, feeling the pleased vibrations of approval echo in his own mouth.

Peter’s hands skimmed his sides, one hand grasping at one of the globes of his backside, opening him up so the air swept against his weeping entrance. The other hand stole down between them, sliding up and down the hard shaft of Stiles’s cock. The shock of that large warm hand against him made Stiles jerk as if electrocuted and he ducked his head, resting his forehead against Peter’s as he rode the sensation to the exclusion of anything else.

“You’ve got a big hard dick for such a slender omega,” Peter all-but crooned, giving Stiles a long, appreciative stroke from root to tip, thumb rubbing the exposed heat. “I like it.” His thumb dipped, rubbing just beneath the head then a little further. “So it’s true. Humans are cut.”

Stiles blinked blearily at him through heat-hazy eyes for a moment before he realised what he meant. “Yeah,” he managed. “At birth. Do you not…?” He trailed off because, obviously, if they did, it would only grow back. He’d never really given it much though but now he had it was…an interesting idea.

“Mmm,” Peter agreed nonsensically, shifting slightly so that Stiles was only half over him and at an angle that allowed their cocks to brush together fully for the first time. Peter was thick and long, foreskin rolled back enough for Stiles to glimpse the swollen head and he exhaled, rolling with the movements of Peter’s hips as he took their cocks in one hand, letting the tips slide wetly together.

Stiles reached out, exploring, stroking up Peter’s length, the hairs at the base, the heavy sac beneath. He dragged his fingertips along his haired thighs then back up to retrace his steps all over, until his fingers gently stroked the loose foreskin back and forth a few times.

“Are you playing with me, Stiles?” Peter purred, his words a soft breath so close to Stiles’s face.

Stiles smirked. “Well, it is heard throughout _Beacon Valley_ , of the great Wolf King and the omega who has him wrapped around his little finger.”

With a chuckle, Peter stroked the back of Stiles’s neck to show he didn’t mind any of that one bit. At that, Stiles drew the foreskin up over the soft, leaking heat just enough to wrap around the very tip of his own cock. He gasped and Peter shuddered, covering his wrist instinctively.

“Sensitive?”

“Very,” Peter murmured huskily, only to lick his fingers and smear wetness across both of their cocks before he silently covered Stiles’s hand with his own. He guided his fingers, urging his foreskin back up over a little of Stiles’s cock, docking just a little, enough to tease, like an intimate kiss. “You’ll have to be very, very gentle with me.” The words were said with such danger and Stiles shuddered again, every inch of him so tense with want that it hurt.

Peter’s hand wandered, leaving Stiles to explore, to stroke them both back and forth together, his own hand smoothing up Stiles’s arm and down his back, dipping into the valley between his cheeks. He hissed when he found the soaking wetness there and leaned in, scenting Stiles’s neck again, drinking him in like the first rain after a drought.

He growled.

“You’re so soft here, just for me.”

“Yes,” Stiles breathed. God, yes, he was so hard, so wet. He felt dizzy with the need to be close. His heat was peaking, making him sensitive all over. He rolled his hips into Peter more urgently now, releasing their erections to grasp Peter’s shoulders to anchor himself in the wave of need. He felt vulnerable and empty, hungry. His skin ached except where Peter touched him.

Peter circled his twitching ring, smearing the shuddering muscle with the pad of his middle finger, massaging it lightly into relaxation before pressing in and sinking up to the knuckle.

Stiles jerked and mouthed at his jaw, his collarbone and arched, pushing back. “Fuck me…”

“I do love that wicked mouth.” Peter curled his finger, stroking in and out circling before pressing another inside. He was so pliant and wet they both sank in, albeit with a little stretch.

The slight burn was so good, low and perfect. He tucked his head under Peter’s chin and sucked.

“Want that knot, give it to me.” Stiles had felt the smooth yet supple base, the place that would swell for him, breed him.

Peter hesitated. “Did Deaton give you…?”

The herbal tonic to stop any eggs from being released into his descended womb to avoid fertilisation.

“Yes,” Stiles assured him. “Safe. _Please_.”

Relaxing, Peter kissed him once, then flipped him over onto his stomach, rearing up behind him and hauling Stiles up until he was on his hands and knees. “Look at that pretty cock on display for me,” Peter panted, stroking him, leaning in to nose and scent and lick at his cock and smaller sac, sucking the weeping pre-emission and trail of slick that gathered there. “Will you display for me Stiles?”

And because it was Peter, because he’d been interested in him as a person before a suitor, a friend before a lover, because he knew him like so few people did, had taken the time to learn his faults even before he’d thought of him in a sexual manner and learned to love him in spite of them, he wasn’t afraid.

Stiles relished in the rush of embarrassment and it heightened the pleasure, made him squirm as he shifted his knees wider apart.

When Peter pressed his mouth between his cheeks to lap at his wet, open hole, he cried out, upper body slumping to the sheets. His fingers curled there, holding on as he rode the shocking pleasure of Peter sucking and lapping at his the softened rim that clenched hungrily for more. Peter massaged his cock too, slow and unhurried until Stiles forgot to breathe.

“Give me that dick,” Stiles grunted, the utter opposite of everything a good omega was supposed to be. Unless they were Peter’s omega.

Peter chuckled against his entrance, drawing back and spreading his cheeks so that Stiles felt the cool air rush against his wet rim. “It’s so swollen and pink here, I don’t think you can take it.” That teasing voice just for him, Stiles thought he might lose his mind after all.

He drank it in, letting Peter’s voice, teasing tongue and the fingers caressing his back and cock wash over him. He just relaxed into the sensation.. When Peter finally drew back it was almost with a note of regret. He stroked the cheeks of Stiles’s backside once more before retreating.

Stiles sank flat on the bed, breathing hard as he turned his head to the side to watch Peter rinse his mouth with some water from the jug on the side of the bed. He returned to the bed with a half full glass, smoothing his hand through the light sheen of sweat on Stiles’s back with reverence as he murmured, “drink. You need to keep your fluids up. You’re deep in the thick of it now.”

Stiles hadn’t even realised. What was usually a slow, miserable decent into lonely solitude where he longed for touch, intimate closeness, safety, warm food and fluffy blankets, had just felt safe this time. A little feverish, a lot aroused and distressed at Peter not being on the bed with him at that exact moment but largely content.

He drank the entire glass Peter offered him, before collapsing back to the bed on his back. He stared up at him, hungry and with an annoying sense that he was far too far away and being allowed entirely too much freedom when Stiles felt like his skin was aching for contact. “Feels like I’m burning up.”

“Mmm,” Peter noted, touching his head with a furrowed brow. He reached for the wash bowl on the side table and tipped some water into it, wringing out a wash cloth before bringing it over. Gently, he smoothed it over Stiles’s face, neck, chest, belly. The cold was a sharp but welcome relief and Stiles sighed as Peter lay it over his forehead briefly, before climbing into bed with him.

“Dad said you’d spoil me,” Stiles confessed without really meaning to.

Peter’s eyes sparkled in the glow from the fireplace and candles in the room. He looked soft and handsome here, not at all the regal king that Peter had always kept away from their interactions. Peter had never wanted to rule his heart or command his body. That was part of why Stiles had fallen for him so hard.

“You deserve it, sweetheart.” He stroked across Stiles’s belly, it seemed to be a thing of his. He stroked him everywhere, wringing the cloth out once more and wiping at Stiles’s brow and body a second time. He made him drink more water and some of the grapes that had been brought up, sweet and sharp on Stiles’s tongue, a taste that Stiles chased lazily into Peter’s mouth as those fingers carded blissfully through his damp hair.

Whatever some of the more ignorant people back in the town thought, _this_ was what heat was for, for the alpha to trust and care for their omega, to comfort them, make them safe and cherished. It was all equally as important as the lovemaking.

Stiles reached down and stroked his own cock lazily, closing his eyes and just drinking in everything Peter had to offer. He felt pleasantly buzzed now, eager for Peter to take care of him.

“I’d like to curl up against your back, with you on your side,” Peter said and Stiles rolled, squirming warm and happy at the feel of Peter spooning behind him, his arms around him, heavy cock resting at the small of his back. He stroked the flat of his palm over Stiles’s stomach. It was a real thing of his, Stiles was beginning to realise and he smiled even as he groaned, stretching further back into Peter’s heat.

“You’re so soft here,” Peter whispered into his ear, making it flush hot and red.

“You want to fill me up, don’t you?” Stiles breathed, “Make it swell?”

Rough, harsh breaths steamed up the back of his neck. Despite all traditional _human_ views about discussing such taboo, intimate things before marriage, they’d talked about this. _That_ wouldn’t be happening any time soon but until then, they could still play. God it made him hot.

“Breed me, want it, please…”

A low rumbling grow accompanied the caress of teeth and when Stiles looked down at the tickling caress on his twitching belly, he saw claws flash there briefly. His cock throbbed, so achingly hard he had to reach down and cup himself just to alleviate the pressure.

The moment his hand touched his cock, Peter urged him forward just enough that his upper leg was bent up and out, exposing the soft curve of his backside. He dragged the tip of his cock between Stiles’s cheeks, smearing the wetness with the shaft until he and Stiles and the bed below were drenched with it. He fucked the crease in increasingly urgent strokes, until Stiles’s body felt so hot inside he thought he was melting.

“Fuck me!” he snarled, more ferocious than any wolf. “Put it in me. Ruin me. God, you…I want…please…”

Peter reached up to cup his cheek, twisting his head back just enough that their mouths could touch.

“Don’t beg, sweatheart,” Peter whispered into his lips. “Not when you can have whatever you want just for the asking.” And with that, he tucked the head of his cock against Stiles’s soft entrance and sank into him like a knife through warm butter.

A low, broken, breathy groan tumbled over Stiles’s lips, against Peter’s slightly parted mouth as they kept their faces pressed together. It was deliciously slow and relentless. Stiles pushed back, bore down and swallowed him up with greedy impatience. Even when he felt too full his stomach fluttered, his cock drooled and he pushed back more.

When Peter started to draw back and push in, it was with small, barely registering movements, grinding more than thrusting, spreading him open. Then when on a bolder inward thrust he shifted his angle to light Stiles up inside like a match, Stiles twisted an arm back to grasp Peter’s hair, haul their mouths closer in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Peter fucked him where he was burning inside, swollen up and so drenched the moist sounds of his slick channel being reamed over and over were all he could hear. Stiles’s body quaked. His belly tightened and he stroked himself fast and urgent as he felt Peter swell within him, the start of his knot just catching on his rim with every thrust.

He was heavy and hot inside, burning him up and soaking the back of Stiles’s thighs with every movement. His hand stroked Stiles’s vulnerable underbelly feverishly now, making Stiles’s lean muscles there clench and shudder in anticipation, so sensitive he had to clench his eyes shut. His legs tensed, locking in place with the sheer intensity of it. He fucked back into everything Peter gave him, crying out with abandon into the sheets, twisting and jerking, locking up as his ass leaked around the impossible girth opening him up over and over.

“Peter, I’m…” It was too much and yet if Peter stopped he might cry. His eyes stung with pleasure so perfect it was overwhelming. He squeezed his cock but it was too late. Peter snarled, ramming into him so hard he flattened out on his belly and Peter’s hips pounded his ass with brutal force.

When Stiles came it was with a long, ragged, drawn out sound, his “Oh – my – god!” stuttered by each slam against the place inside him that sent sparks to every nerve in his body. He splashed between his stomach and the sheets, his hole tightening with wet spasms.

Peter grunted, desperate but locked out by Stiles’s clenching muscles and he started to grind in more crazed, out of control pulses. A single bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto Stiles’s back as his knot swelled.

Stiles gasped as she shook, reaching back and wrapping his hand around it, squeezing, milking it, wanting. Peter tucked into him tighter, sucking at the side of his neck. Then Stiles bore down or something happened but Peter sank into him all the way, knot nearly full and catching inside.

Stiles went limp with relief and completion, just quivering and Peter started to pant brokenly as his knot tightened.

It was so big Stiles gave a dry sob. “So good, fuck me with it, stretch me open, I need, I need…”

“Sshh,” Peter said gently, even though his voice sounded rough with emotion. He kissed the back of Stiles’s head as he wrapped himself around him. “I’ve got you.” He came thick and heavy inside him, jerking with little uncontrollable spasms himself, entirely vulnerable and yet wrapping Stiles up in arms so strong and warm they could tear the city down to protect him.

He kept rolling his hips slowly, like he couldn’t help himself, even though Stiles was locked down tight, milking him dry, greedy in his post-orgasmic haze.

When Stiles finally stopped shaking, Peter rolled onto his side carefully. He pulled Stiles with him as he went, settling his ass into the cradle of his hips and slightly curled legs, keeping them tied more comfortably. It was impossibly intimate, being locked together like that, and Stiles swore he felt his belly swelling a little where Peter stroked it absently, smeared with his own ejaculate as it was.

Peter nuzzled at his nape, his ear, his cheekbone, scenting and brushing his nose against Stiles’s skin wherever he could reach, as if in that moment he was completely gone on him, unable to do anything more than act on instinct.

Stiles relished in it, drinking it up and caressing the arm wrapped around him absently as he drifted.

The fire in the grate burned as they lay wrapped together in their own private paradise at the start of their new life together. Stiles knew as he chased the last of his innocence away into the slow, lazy post-orgasmic kisses that everything was changing but with this man holding him so tight, he was not afraid. And after over twenty one years of fearing where a misfit of an omega like him would fit into the world, that was the most freeing thought of all.

This future had always been open to him, and yet it wasn’t until he was laying in it that he realised it was where he was always meant to be.

“I never thought I’d feel this kind of completion,” Peter admitted as they curled together and sleep loomed. He threaded his fingers into Stiles’s in front of him, nosing sleepily into his nape.

“Nor did I, your majesty.”

Peter nipped at his neck in mock admonishment. “You are a _highness_ now, you realise?”

Stiles stilled. “That’s not funny. I don’t think we thought this through.”

Peter chuckled and after a moment, Stiles did too. “I think many of the townsfolk will have you know, sire, that I’m quite the rebellious omega. A real handful. I’m not sure I should be in any position of power.”

Stiles felt Peter grin against his skin.

“I can’t wait to see what trouble you get us both into.”


End file.
